


Spirit

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Galaxy Quest (1999)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-23
Updated: 2004-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-25 04:24:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1631336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quellek's hero-worship is a bit more subdued.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spirit

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Katie M.

 

 

__

> QUELLEK
> 
> Dr. Lazarus... I hope that I'm not breaching protocol but -- I am so very humbled to stand in your presence. I have studied your missions extensively. Though I am Thermian, I have lived my life by your philosophy, by the code of the Mak'tar.
> 
> ALEXANDER
> 
> Well good, that's very... nice.

**Spirit.**

When Warvan Quellek was a few cycles old, his brother Grabthar had returned from war. His mother and father wept for joy; they threw a feast like no Thermian had seen since Quellek's own hatching at the start of the war, and though only three seasons at the time of its occurrence, Quellek was told it had been a bountiful celebration.

Quellek would later be told of the horrors his brother had faced in the fight against Sarris to protect their portion of the universe. He would study the historical documents and develop the correct chemical formula to catalyze the reaction that would generate the isotope to complete the Omega-13. He would discover the precise angle of rotation to be able to incorporate the beryllium sphere into the spacecraft for full functioning capacity. With all the brilliance and solace he would find in innovation and invention, Quellek would compare their intelligence to that of the monsters that they battled. In the future, he would be the only Thermian to realize that blind hope was the only way to succeed, because for every modicum of science that they could replicate and solve, they understood not a fraction of it.

But this season he was enraptured only with the presence before him. Grabthar was missing a limb, yet Quelleck in his naivet was the only one to point it out. His brother embraced him with a strong, battle-scarred tentacle and chuckled, "It heightens my mating potential, Quellek. Here."

Quellek caught the device and was promptly made human. "Just like in the historical documents! Oh, thank you, brother!"

The company laughed, mirth increased at Quellek's exploration of fingers, arms, nose, and hair by the Kep-mok syrup they had all been drinking. Merriment echoed from every wall of their home. His mother called the guests to the receiver to watch Grabthar's favorite document of the canine-thief and the beautiful raptor-woman. Quellek remained with them, not for the document and its folly, but for his brother. No one knew that Grabthar would be called back to duty in half a season, Quellek least of all; he thought this meant that his brother was safe.

"Thank Ipthar you have come home, Grabthar," their mother said as the document flickered onscreen, and young, stupid Quellek echoed every sentiment.

-*-

"Quellek."

Grabthar never suggested, didn't coax or coo or consider. He commanded. Quellek spun to face him, crossed his arms in deference, respect.

An amused yellow played across Grabthar's tentacles while he cradled his war hammer, his favorite tool, in his digits. It was a gift bestowed on him from Ipthar's high priest Framanthar himself when Grabthar was twenty cycles. He tossed the sphere he also carried to Quellek as he gently set the hammer down. "Why are you still fiddling about with that generator, Quellek?"

Quellek felt the face of the form grow almost unbearably hot as he caught it. "It is fascinating, brother."

"Fascinating?" Grabthar chuckled. "A simple hologram, as the Jetsons use."

Quellek tossed the sphere with less enthusiasm. "Our scientists are very innovative."

Grabthar allowed the sphere to bounce twice before sending it back. "So often the true heroes are unheralded."

"The technology that you used to fight Sarris, to save our planet..." Quellek rolled the ball in his mock-palms contemplatively. "It is not as important as what you do." He brightened. "I only hope that I may be allowed to follow in your footsteps one day!"

Grabthar's limbs quivered. "I sincerely hope you do not, Quellek." He walked off with purpose and bristling demeanor. The weapon he had brought with him remained motionless on the ground.

It was a command.

-*-

His mother held him surprisingly tight; Quellek made a small squeak of protestation. "What is troubling you, mother?" he asked as she released him from her hold.

"Grabthar has forgotten this," she said, holding his hammer. "How could such an oversight be made?"

Quellek's fear was quick and fleeting. "It is an omen, Mother, of assurance. Grabthar leaves this so he may return to retrieve it. We have nothing to fear."

His mother's tentacles paled a mottled rose and she dropped it. "I am not so easily comforted."

Hurt swept through Quellek and disfigured the features of the human form. "How quickly you doubt Grabthar! Your mistrust is unfounded! What has he done for you, or Father, or the Warvan clan to warrant it? Nothing, Mother." He stepped into the hydro-pneumatic tube that would transport him to the other side of the planet for his education, snatching the hammer from its discarded spot upon the floor. It took all of three milliseconds for Quellek to appear in the corresponding tube in the entryway of his instruction pod.

Perhaps he would have said something different had he known, but Quellek did not. Not one Thermian understood the whims of the wrath of Sarris.

-*-

> _He is at his lessons when they come for him with the long, wooden box. He is positive it is solely for show. Quellek has long resented the traditions they have acquired from the historical documents, but at this moment, his hate knows no bound. It is hard to breathe._
> 
> He quietly lets the appearance generator slip from his grasp. The human form betrayed too much.

-*-

Before, Quellek had looked upon the Thermians who stayed at the institution with pitiful innocence. He had not been able to grasp the concept of why they were permanently... _there_ in the small cots that the hardship around them laboured to provide, and now that he inhabited a small vermilion one near the end of the hall, he desperately wished it were the same. Waking to the too-bright metal walls of the enclosure was a fate worse than death. He clutched his brother's hammer as their captain held his weapon, for protection and security.

He had only eight cycles. His parents had nearly two hundred between them.

"Here, Warvan Quellek." His instructor Narathia guided him over to the receiver and sat him down in front of it. "Perhaps this will assist you."

The images were blurry. He closed his eyelids. He didn't care for them. There were many members of their society who fawned over the historical documents as if they were the difference between life and death, but Quellek could not understand the fascination. They drowned themselves in the moving pictures and lost sense of the world around them. He thought it almost dangerous.

And yet... And yet this was one document he had not heard recounted by his peers. The music was triumphant, the characters were strangely clad, as if warriors on a mission. And one stood out in particular. He was intelligent, resourceful - there was an element about him that seemed more real than the others. He had history and determination. His voice was deep and reassuring. Sincere.

_"By Grabthar's hammer, by the sons of Warvan, I shall avenge you!"_

Quellek looked up, each eye finally fully opened, and saw his savior.

-*-

Mathasar was nearly eleven cycles superior to Quellek, but they viewed the historical documents together each time Narathia deemed it appropriate for them to do so. Mathasar was the only other Thermian in their troupe that did not poke fun at Quellek for transcribing each word, for scribbling notes. He did not force Quellek to switch off his brother's appearance generator. He only flushed a bright, giggling yellow and asked that Quellek allow him to sketch the design of each corridor and launch pad of the ship. This was an arrangement that Quellek embraced.

When the institution was threatened with destruction and the eighteen troupes were moved to safer haven, Mathasar and Quellek found others who had done the same.

-*-

There had been a chemical spill that disintegrated an entire three troupes yesterday morning. Quellek found his concentration slipping and when Mathasar noted he had transcribed the incorrect chemical formula for the acid utilized in the document, he had asked to be excused from the session.

It was after a troubled rest that he returned to the receiver, when all other members of the troupe had retired, and approached the screen with desperation. "What would you think, Dr. Lazarus? What would you have done?"

The answer did not come for many documents, until Dr. Lazarus clapped Commander Taggart on the back and said, " _Larak tarath_ , my friend. Strength in spirit."

Quellek did not need to transcribe this into physicality. He stored it in his mind.

-*-

"Transfer the sphere, Warvan Quellek!"

Quellek's tentacles were flushed and orange and twitching. Throbbing. The game was of skill and speed, but his pace had slowed after Mathasar had accidentally crushed his lower limb. It was a matter of an opening, now. All he needed was an opening.

"Quellek! Have haste!"

His eyes flashed from Mathasar to Rayanthar and back again. There was no plausible alternative except for him to take the initiative himself. Quellek centered his thoughts and breathed quickly. Thought quickly. Drug the last vestiges of power from his tentacles and _thrust_ \--

On the opposite side of the room, where Narathia and the other instructors were watching the historical documents, Dr. Lazarus smiled.

-*-

It took three seasons for Quellek's message to reach his brother, and nearly a cycle for its response to find its way back, but Quellek read every word more than twice, poured over it like Mathasar did for his blueprints. Grabthar was pleased that Quellek had found a document to aspire to, that he was safe with the other troupes in their containment, that mother and father were as well as Quellek said they were.

Grabthar's regiment was moving to Sarris' fleet's headquarters, near the Magthar nebula and they wouldn't be near Thermia for a few cycles. It was a long and hard battle to fight, and Grabthar and his fellow warriors were the most qualified for the mission. Correspondance would be difficult. Ipthar would watch over them.

Quellek only sent two words to his brother in reponse. They said everything he wished.

-*-

>   
>  _When they come for him again, it is only because he has had to endure the ceremony before. They must assume he has become accustomed to the process by this time._
> 
> _Quellek's mouth cannot quite form the smile it means to. One never becomes accustomed to burying the remainders of one's family._
> 
> _The vision of the human form blurs and swims, the knees quiver as his own legs give way to fall and bruise upon the ground in front of where they place the box. The hands of the deception rise to settle gently on the lid, to faintly trace the warrior blessings etched into the wood._
> 
> _"B-by your hammer, brother, as a son of Warvan, I-"_
> 
> __Larak tarath, _his mind whispers,_ larak tarath, larak tarath. _Strength in spirit._
> 
> Quellek's voice fails him.  
> 

-*-

Dr. Lazarus never allowed his anger to control him, and Quellek does not know how this was accomplished until the meditation files were found. He recorded a digitalized copy of the ritual and performed it often in his chamber. Mathasar half-heartedly joined him, but the level of concentration was difficult for him to sustain. Quellek watched Dr. Lazarus' steady posture avidly.

" _Focus,_ " he said on the document, breathing out. On the screen, Dr. Lazarus' eyes opened and with a simple push of his hand shattered a sheet of glass.

"Focus," Quellek parroted and raised a tentacle over his head.

-*-

Quellek's reflexes were extra steady as he watched the document. His lab was meticuously constructed, an accurate third-scale model of that of Dr. Lazarus'. He breathed only when his chest burned with the effort of suppressing the action.

He had tried seventy-four times to create the perfect membrane, resistant to Sarris' radiation attacks, semi-permeable and indestructable. He had forfeited Mathasar's celebratory viewing of Gilligan's paradise retreat. He had forfeited two days worth of rest. Instead, he had spent his time studying how Dr. Lazarus mixed and measured. They had a war to win.

The chemical fizzed and sputtered on the screen. _"Never give up,"_ Dr, Lazarus muttered, pouring his own flask into the pot.

Quellek followed his actions, hope shining in his tired eyes. "Never surrender."

-*-

It took thirteen cycles and eighty thousand more deaths for the emperor to commission the Galaxy Quest project. Mathasar headed the production and Quellek remained in his quarters, examining the intricacies of each drawing and chemical analysis. The Mak'nar principle of perseverance of intellect inspired him to continue with the difficult observations, inspired him to assist the crew around him to continue their work as well. If Sarris was to have revenge exacted on him then the entire Thermian fleet must be prepared for the retaliation.

Quellek meditated in his chambers far more often than before. He must be prepared for the retaliation.

-*-

Perhaps it was not the most palatable food in the universe, but Quellek enbraced the Kep-mok syrup just as he did the man behind it. He tilted the chin of the human image belonging to the young Thermian up to face him. He was new, from a side of the planet that had been decimated just a season ago.

" _Larak tarath_ ," he hiccuped, with pride. "Strength of spirit."

The young one's deception smiled.

-*-

> _When the world ends, Quellek is light-years away from home, and the graves of his parents disintegrate without him shedding so much of a tear. He has a mission._
> 
> Since he is all that is left of the sons of Warvan, the vengeance falls on his shoulders alone.

 


End file.
